


More Than Words

by electricblueninja



Series: Conversation Starters For Couples [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Big Gay Feels, Castiel is a gentle soul, Dean is a work in progress, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Supportive Sam Winchester, gently gently, slowly slowly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:07:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27909493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricblueninja/pseuds/electricblueninja
Summary: Sam's apology for poor door-opening etiquette takes the form of deciding to take Jack out of the bunker for the night. As for Cas and Dean, well...Before, it was one step forward, two steps back. Now, the dance is starting to change pace.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Conversation Starters For Couples [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2033494
Comments: 1
Kudos: 38





	More Than Words

I react too slow. Even though I pull my hand free as fast as I can, the door's already open; Sam's staring at us, wide-eyed.

I raise my voice as shock takes its ice-cold grip on my skull. "Jesus, Sam, wait till I _answer_ before you--"

I stand up, moving away from Cas, turning away from them both to try and hide the fact that I'm roughly the colour of a beetroot, and to conceal from Sam the awkward fact that I've got a semi.

Sam's making a hell of an effort to sound normal: I can hear the strain in his voice. 

"I, uh, just came down to ask if I could borrow the Impala. I thought I'd take Jack out for a drive...there's this...thing...a couple towns over, so I thought maybe I'd take him, but, you know, he likes the Impala best, so..."

"That sounds like a great idea, Sam," says Cas, who, from the sound of it, is still sitting on my bed. _On my bed_. God.

I stalk back over to my bedside table and toss Sam the keys. I can't think of anything to say, so I just...don't say anything.

"Thanks," says Sam. "I'll just...yup. Thanks. We'll, uh...we'll be back tomorrow morning. I'll text." Then he's gone, closing the door quietly behind him, and it's just me and Cas again.

I close my eyes and let myself collapse into a ball on the bed, burying my face into the pillow. "Well that was humiliating," I mutter, muffled by the pillowcase.

After a moment, the bedsprings creak as Cas joins me on the bed. He lies behind me; chest against my upper back, arm along the side of my torso, and hand on my hip. It's like the way I fell asleep against him the other night. I don't know why, but I feel like there's something kind of _possessive_ about the way he puts himself around me. And I kind of like it. 

I don't know why. Maybe it makes me feel wanted. And even though I hate that Sam saw us, the way Cas is holding me definitely takes the edge off. I want to be mad, but the weight of him against me is soothing to the point that it's almost irritating.

He's propped on his elbow, and I turn my head to look at him, met with eyes that are just...so blue they practically glow.

"Are you alright, Dean?"

"Do I _look_ alright?"

Cas hesitates, biting his lip, before he rumbles in a low voice, "Dean, about Sam...He already knows. He already _knew._ "

I roll all the way onto my back to stare at him, trying to ignore the way that Cas' hand ends up very close to my crotch as a result. "What do you mean, he _knows_?"

"He told me that he had...suspected...for some time."

"Suspected what?"

"My feelings for you."

Oh. So that was what the whole _Do you want to come in and talk about it?_ thing was about? Explains a few things, I guess. Stupid book included.

"Oh." Then, "Wait--does that mean _Sam_ knew before I did?"

Cas looks slightly awkward at that. "Yes."

"Uh-huh. And...is Sam the only one who knows?"

Cas shrugs. "I don't know, Dean. He told me that I have not done a very good job of concealing it."

"Well _I_ didn't know."

"He also said that you are blind to things you do not want to see."

"Okay, okay, that's enough about what Sam says. And--and stop talking to Sam about me, okay? Talk to _me_ about me. _I'm_ the expert. _What_ , Cas? Why are you smiling?"

He shakes his head, but the smile doesn't leave his lips, and I'm painfully aware of how _close_ he is all over again. If he stooped his head even a little, our noses would be touching.

"You're right, Dean," he says, "You're the expert on..." He drops his gaze to look down my body. "...on Dean. And if you'll permit it, I'll be a willing student."

_Jesus_. I don't think I've made it to a full erection this quick since I was...what...fourteen? And why the _hell_ does it feel like he's still the one calling the shots, when he's offering to...to...

I mean, the upside is Sam is taking Jack out. Which does mean we've got the bunker to ourselves.

My throat has gone dry. I swallow to try and wet it, but it's just noisy, not helpful. My voice is still raspy when I ask, "Are they gone yet?"

Cas closes his eyes a moment scanning the building, then reopens them. "Not yet," he says. "But they're on their way. In the meantime, you'll just need to stay quiet."

I bristle. "I _am_ quiet." 

He just smirks at me, pushing his palm down on my boner through my jeans and immediately making me a liar, because there's something about the slow friction of the way he rubs me that is _just right_ \--too much _and_ not enough--and it makes me moan involuntarily. Then, without bothering to unbutton my pants or anything, he slides his hand _underneath_ the fabric, his fingers curling into a fist around me, and I whimper as his thumb wanders gently around the tip of my cock.

He watches me contemplatively for a minute or two, massaging as I throb against his hand, experimenting with pace and pressure. Then, he closes his eyes--scanning again, I realise; my comprehension is just a little delayed because of the languorous way his fingers twist.

"They're gone now," he says, his own voice getting a little rougher than before. 

"Good. Kiss me, Cas." 

He presses his lips to my forehead first, and then my temple, and only after that my lips. The minute he does, he's gently tightening his fingers, and the pressure's got me bucking up into his grip, groaning into his mouth. I can feel him smiling against me; feel the warmth of his low chuckle as he draws back, but not for long, because I lift my head, chasing more of the buzz I get from his lips on mine; the rough sensation of his scruffy chin against my skin. He tastes like mint, or honey, or both. I'm a mess. I'm straight-up gonna cum in my pants in less than half a minute if he keeps doing whatever he's doing, so I grab him by the wrist, muttering, "No--no no no. No."

He's compliant: he stops, looking down on me nervously, a frown furrowing his brow. "What is it, Dean? Did I do something wrong?"

"No," I repeat, shaking my head, "No, no. I just...I want to last a little longer, and I--I _can't_ if you do that, Cas--that thing--it's--"

"Oh. Apologies." He loosens his grip and, after a moment’s contemplation, gently withdraws his hand.

I hear myself groaning again at the way his skin pulls against mine, and I have to admit that he might be right, because that was _not_ quiet.

His hand moves up to my face, cupping my cheek; rising up to stroke my hair. There is so much gentleness in everything he does--every touch; every word he says to me. 

Was it always like this? Was I really that blind to it? 

"Tell me, Dean: what would you have me do?"


End file.
